I had a visitor yesterday. You will be as surprised, when I tell
you who it was, as I was to see him. Have you guessed? I'm sure
you haven't. None other than our friend Sprudell--very
apologetic--very humble and contrite, and with an explanation to
offer for his behavior that was really most ingenious. There's
no denying he has cleverness of a kind--craft, perhaps, is a
better word.
His humility was touching but so unlike him that I should have
been alarmed if he had not been so obviously sincere.
Nevertheless his visit has upset me. I've been worried ever
since. Perhaps you'll only laugh at me when I tell you that it
is because I am afraid for _you_. Truly I am! I don't know that
I can explain exactly so you'll understand but there was
something disturbing which I _felt_ when he spoke quite casually
of you. It was almost too intangible to put into words but it
was like a gloating secret satisfaction, as though he had the
best of you in some way, the whip-hand.
It may be just a silly notion, one of those fears that pop into
one's head in the most inexplicable way and stick, refusing to
be driven out by any amount of logic. Tell me, is there anything
that he can do to you? Any way that he can harm you?